The Fear Inside
by Emeraldbuttercup
Summary: Jack doesn't understand it, but something about this small child reminds him of home.


It was an accident.

It always was.

Jack flew through the cold night air, the wind stinging his exposed face. Snowflakes danced around him, surging and spiraling with every forceful gust. The burlap cloak around Jack's shoulders fluttered restlessly, his staff glittering with frost. Each delicate vein of frost was shining with white starlight in the darkness. The full moon was glowing softly in the sky, the wind whispering a hushed lullaby to all who hear. The world of daylight had fluttered away, and Jack Frost rode on the night's wings like a shadow. It was his hour, the witching hour.

But he was loosing the fight.

Jack's jaw clenched as fought to control the snowstorm. Snowflakes were falling faster now, their dance becoming wild and unrestrained. Jack cried out as he was tossed violently through the air, spiraling helplessly into the darkness. He was buffeted to dizzying heights, far above the snow-covered northern mountains. He looked down, his crystal eyes wide with fear. It had happened before, many times in his relatively short life.

Some of the time, Jack could control his powers.

Most of the time, his powers control him.

Jack gritted his teeth as an invisible force slammed into him, taking the breath out of his lungs and throwing him head over heels. In a single instance he was falling, his unprotected limbs flailing as he struggled for balance. Jack pressed his thin lips together, fighting the urge to cry out for help. He knew that his pleas would only go unnoticed.

No one ever heard.

Suddenly, Jack felt pain explode throughout his side. He had hit something- without hesitation Jack grabbed the solid surface, clinging to it pitifully. The storm continued to howl around him, but its focus on him was dispelled. Jack sighed closing his eyes for a brief moment before lifting his head slightly to take stock of his surroundings.

He had crashed into a roof. He was clinging to periwinkle painted wooden shingles. His fingers and toes were starting to cramp from their precarious hold. Jack looked around frantically, his eyes finding a window slightly below him. Jack's body flooded with relief, and he anxiously scrambled down the rooftop. The wooden shingles dug into his bare feet cruelly, but Jack paid it no heed in his desperation to reach safety. Nimbly he fell onto the slightly protruding windowsill. Jack pressed his forehead against the cool glass, and gently tapped the window with his staff. Slowly, an icicle grew on the other side, its tip pushing the lever locking the window. With a click it unlocked. Jack grinned in triumph, eagerly grasping the window frame and pushing it upwards. It gave way to his touch, and Jack gracefully jumped into the room beyond.

It was a richly furnished hall, warm lavenders and crimsons greeting him welcomingly. Jack felt the tension leave his shoulders. His earlier fear was fading, the adrenaline giving way to exhaustion. Jack yawned, ruffling his tousled mess of white hair distractedly. Jack flitted idly around the hall, unconsciously floating a few feet off the floor. Hanging from the walls were dozens, maybe hundreds, of portraits. They varied in all manner of sizes. The biggest ones were larger than life, depicting in striking detail lords and ladies in lavish costumes of silk. The smallest canvas, the one with the faded gold leaf frame, was barely the size of Jack's fist. Jack leaned forward eagerly to stare at a painting of a woman in full shining armor, her fiery red hair cascading down her shoulders in a waterfall of fire. Jack's pale fingers ghosted the surface of the canvas, almost wondering if the heat of the battle would warm him. The texture of the paint was rough, dipping and curving underneath his touch. Jack's mouth twitched upward in a small lopsided smile, though his chest filled with a hollow sort of aching.

Suddenly, a cry echoed down the endless hall. Jack twirled around in mid-air, his crystal eyes widening in surprise. It was a whimpering, gurgling cry, insistent and growing in distress. Something within Jack seemed to respond to the nonverbal call. There was a heavy kind of pain in his chest. Jack unknowingly put a hand over his heart, massaging it distractedly. There was something about that cry that seemed almost familiar. Jack frowned in thought, his grip tightening on his staff as he struggled to remember. It was a distant memory, a similar cry- The answer, whatever it was, eluded him. Jack felt as though he was on the verge of something important. Jack huffed discontentedly. He had never encountered such an uncomfortable, oppressing feeling, and especially during the middle of the night.

And yet, he was no longer alone. Jack cocked his head sideways like a baffled puppy, his white bangs falling into his eyes. Part of him wanted to fly away immediately.

That was how he protected himself from hurt. The cry had made him feel uncomfortable. Therefore he needed to leave. He would be out in the night air again, the bite of the cold air and the veins of frost glinting on the windowsill the only traces he had been there at all.

If he stayed too long, it would only mean disappointment and inevitable hurt. He did not belong in the world of the living.

Jack was halfway to the open window, his childlike fear fueling his flight. He couldn't bear to be walked through again. The mere thought sent a shiver down his spine. It was better to stick to the shadows, to pretend he didn't want to be seen.

The cry rang out from the shadows again. Jack froze, his eyes fluttering shut. It was so familiar. Why couldn't he remember it? His fingernails dug into his palms as he struggled to grasp what seemed to be a distant dream.

_Brown eyes. Beautiful, warm brown eyes. Pride blossomed in his chest as he stared to them, reaching out-_

Jack fell to the cold stone floor abruptly with a yelp, his staff flying across the room. He was panting, curling into himself, his arms wrapping around his knees to secure him into reality. His head ached horribly. The place in his mind where he had seen those eyes was now as smooth and numb as scar tissue. Jack squeezed his eyes shut, trying to abate a sudden rush of nausea.

He had to find out what was making that noise, Jack told his fevered mind. It was connected somehow. Connected to him, although his rational mind screamed that it was impossible.

He was wrong.

He was mad.

He had never heard such a noise.

And yet, it was calling to him like a siren's song. To where, Jack didn't know.

But it felt like home.

* * *

**Oh, it feels so good to be writing about Jack again! I missed him- and writing- so much. Please tell me what you think!**


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